‘I’m not entirely helpless, you know, our Bobby. There’s a fire going in t’ kitchen grate.’ He looked rather proud of himself at having achieved this feat.
‘Did you eat? You should have woken me.’
‘I reckoned you needed your sleep. Don’t worry, I made myself a bit o’ toast.’
‘I’ll get up and make some tea. Just give me half an hour to make myself presentable.’
‘No need to rush for my benefit. I’m meeting Pete over in Dunrigg in a bit so I’m heading out. Market day there today. If I see owt worth bringing back for tea, I’ll pick it up. I promised Jessie and Florrie some red apples if I could find ’em.’
Bobby smiled, pleased to hear he was going to be contributing to the family table through legal means for once. ‘They’ll be thrilled if you can. Apples are terribly expensive these days, though, Dad. Pippins have gone up to tenpence a pound.’
‘Ah well, if it makes the bairns smile. I’ve got a few bob to spare.’
‘Do you want me to make you some sandwiches?’
‘You take your time getting up. I’ve wrapped up some of that leftover potato pie that were in the pantry to take wi’ me, and a bit of malt loaf. Ta-ra, love.’
Bobby was glad when he had left her alone with her thoughts. It had taken her brain a little while to surface from the deep dark of her night’s sleep, and she hadn’t immediately been able to place the mingled feeling of guilt, depression and dread that settled on her as soon as she was conscious again. Once her dad was gone, however, it came back to her. It was today. Today she had to give Charlie her answer. Today she had to witness the pain and hurt in his eyes when she finally told him that no, she couldn’t be his wife. Would it break his heart? Would he ever be able to forgive her? She was sure she would never forgive herself.
And yet she knew she had no choice. The men on the mountainside, the ones who hadn’t made it and the ones who had, had finally made her mind up for her. That night, she had stared into the face of death and it had changed her irrevocably. She couldn’t let herself love a man who every day was in danger of ending up like the men in the plane; not now she’d seen what that truly looked like. She couldn’t bring children into a world so frightening and uncertain, with a father they might lose any day. The torture of constantly knowing that today could be the day she got the telegram – or that Charlie might come home to her mutilated, tortured and in pain like the poor Polish pilot – would drive her mad.
Sometimes there’d be a little whisper of hope.If the war was over, it said.If the war was over.There were still her worries about her job and motherhood, and everything else that she feared might happen if she married Charlie Atherton, but the only thing in life that was truly insurmountable was death – death and the fear of death, which coloured everything. But the whisper was a false friend, because stark realism told her that the war showed no signs of being over. There was no instant happy ending coming to her aid, and if Bobby allowed herself to hope otherwise then she was a fool. If the war ended tomorrow, it would mean Britain had been defeated, and what then? If it didn’t end tomorrow, who knew for how long afterwards it might rage? When the last war had begun, there had been hope it would all be over by the Christmas of 1914. Four years later, when the armistice was finally signed, thousands had been killed – millions. Not to mention those like Reg and her father, wounded both physically and mentally, who had never been the same since. She would be beyond naive to think this war might not follow the same path.
Bobby thought for a moment about going over to the farmhouse to talk over the choice she’d made with Mary, but she knew her friend would only try to dissuade her. Mary had sent a husband of her own off to war, waving him away on at least one occasion when she knew she must be carrying his child. When that husband had come home maimed in mind and body because of his experiences and their child had been lost, Mary had grieved, of course… but then she’d carried on. Bobby couldn’t tell her friend what she was feeling in the wake of the Bowside crash. She felt ashamed of herself because she couldn’t be stronger, the way other women showed themselves to be. She felt guilty for being unable to accept that king and country had a greater claim on the man she loved than she ever could. Yet she felt that way all the same.
She wondered what would happen to Charlie, afterwards. It was the first time she’d really thought about it. Of course, he’d never found himself short of friendly female company – charming the birds from the trees was something that had always come naturally to him. No doubt there’d be plenty of pretty WAAFs at the RAF school in East Yorkshire where he was to do his training. Perhaps he’d be sad for a little while. He might believe his heart was broken. Still, he’d rally, Bobby was certain. Perhaps the first time he came home on leave, the space she’d taken up in his heart would already be occupied by a fresh idol.
Bobby wondered if she really believed this, or if she was only trying to make herself feel better about the pain she knew she was going to cause him. Except it didn’t really make her feel better at all. It made her feel far worse.
There were still a few hours until she was due to meet Charlie for their date – their last date. Bobby decided to fill the time with a walk up to Newby Top Farm to see her friend Andy Jessop and his family. He’d have heard the gossip about the rescued airmen, no doubt, and be grateful to have the story first-hand from someone who was there. Bobby wasn’t particularly keen to go over the events of that night again, but nor did she want to sit around the cottage fretting about Charlie.
Andy was very interested in all the news she had to bring him, as she’d known he would be, and Ginny was so impressed with Bobby’s part in the rescue that she absolutely insisted she take home a good-sized ham she’d been curing in the larder. Bobby tried to refuse such a generous gift but the kindly old Daleswoman refused to take no for an answer, and so Bobby found herself walking back down to Silverdale with a basket containing the wrapped ham hooked over her arm.
And Ginny wasn’t the only one who seemed anxious to press gifts on to her. She was passing the bakery when Molly Craven, the baker’s wife, beckoned her inside.
‘Me and t’ owd man thought you might like to take this home for your supper, Miss,’ she said, handing over a little package. ‘Wi’ our compliments, o’ course.’
Bobby lifted a corner of the paper to see what was inside. It was a small seed cake, still warm from the oven. When she lifted it to her nose, it smelled sweet, moist and rich, like the cakes they’d had before the war.
‘Molly, this is very generous of you,’ Bobby said. ‘You must let me pay for it.’
‘Oh now, don’t be daft. I reckon after what you and t’ rest on ’em done for them poor injured boys, a little treat wi’ your cup o’ tea is least we can offer.’
‘Honestly, I barely did anything. All I did was wave a rattle and shout. The men who carried the stretchers did the hard work, and the two doctors.’
‘Aye, we all heard what you did. We heard that it were you got them organised to make a rescue party when there were some as would rather have stayed cosy by t’ fire, and it were you who stopped men being left for dead when the rest decided they mun be t’ enemy. Gil Capstick’s been spreading the word.’
‘It was me the gunner spoke to and told me they were Free Polish, but there’s no great achievement in that. I was the nearest to him, that’s all. Charlie did more than me.’
‘And we’ve a little treat for him too when he comes by. Now you mustn’t insult us by refusing it, Miss.’
Bobby knew there was no point arguing further after this. The refusal of a gift of food was an unforgivable offence in Silverdale.
‘Well, thank you, it’s ever so kind,’ she said. ‘The cake’s going to be a wonderful treat for my dad and me. We’re very grateful.’
‘Let’s say it’s on behalf o’ them lads who’d noan be alive now if it weren’t for you.’ Molly gave her a knowing smile. ‘Happen you might let young Charlie know we’ve a treat for him when you see him. The two o’ ye never seem to be far apart these days.’
‘Um, yes, I will. Thanks again, Molly.’
